Kiss or Hug
by sarahandmarquis
Summary: Erik creates a question game to play with Christine so they can get to know each other better. Based on the Dance version. One-shot. Complete.


Author's Note:

Dear Readers,

Yet another one-shot colab between myself and Christine-1990 about the Charles Dance version of Phantom of the Opera! That version is by far the best. This one-shot began as a test thing for her and I to get familiar with each other's writing styles and how they would mess. Then it turned into pure angsty fluff we just had to post because we like breaking hearts... Whoops.

sarahandmarquis

P.S. If you didn't notice the word count, settle in for the long haul. This thing is nearly 5000 words, excluding the Author's Note.

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Christine leaned back in her chair and sighed contentedly. The meal had been extravagant, covering all four courses, by far the finest she had enjoyed in her life. And, now, Erik had promised her a game, a game that would help them get to know each other in a safe, fun way. From her place in the parlor, she could hear the water running in the kitchen. She felt helpless, sitting in her chair, but he had specifically forbidden her from helping him. Respecting his wishes, she waited patiently for him to return and tell her what he had in mind.

The squeaking of the damp rag against the ceramic plate was quite unpleasant to Erik's sensitive ears as he did his best to hurry, but not rush. The thought of Christine waiting in the other room made his heart race. Of course, he couldn't allow her to help in the kitchen. _She should never be made to work a day in her life._

Satisfied with his clean kitchen, Erik strode to the parlor, the spring in his step unmistakable. He was quite proud of himself in this moment, for he had come up with a game of sorts to play with his beloved. He had not yet perfected his little game, but he believed this would help him get to know the depths of the beautiful mind belonging to his angel.

Upon entering the room, he smiled paused a moment to look over Christine's features. Her small frame was engulfed in the large blood red armchair - his chair - but if she wished to sit there he would say nothing of it. The fire light glinted off her soft golden curls. These curls bounced a bit as she turned and smiled sweetly at him, causing his heart to flutter.

Beckoned by the smile, he crossed the room, his long legs carrying him gracefully around the sparse furniture. After winding his way around the back of the armchair, he padded across the thick Persian rug to the large corner desk that occupied the far left corner of the room. He retrieved the small glass jar from the dark ebony desk. Pivoting on his heel, he made his way to the plush armchair that stood across from Christine. He placed the jar on the tea table between them. A dozen or so strips of parchment twisted among each other in the clear jar, folded so the chooser could not read them ahead of choosing each slip.

"Alright, dear, let me explain how my game works. We will take turns choosing slips of paper from this jar. Each slip has a question on it. We will read our question aloud and each of us will answer it. You are, of course, welcome to decline any question you wish. I would never want you to feel uncomfortable. You are welcome to draw first if you like." He pushed the jar closer to her side of the table to reinforce his statement.

Christine perked up as she listened to the description of his game. The premise sounded very entertaining, and she inwardly celebrated getting to know some details about this man who she loved so very much. Reaching into the jar, she pulled out a slip of paper. She smoothed it gently in her lap and read the words scrawled in almost childish hand across the white paper.

"'Did you have an imaginary friend growing up?' Should I answer first or you?" She inquired shyly, wondering if the question was perhaps a little too intimate to start but willing to go along with it. _Might as well dive in. I wonder if he did have any friends at all, even imaginary ones as a child?_ The thought made her sad, remembering his life story that his father had told her.

"I suppose I could go first. Give you a moment to consider your answer." Erik paused for a second. His eyebrows scrunched under his mask, in concentration, causing it to shift slightly. He looked into the fire, his eyes growing distant as he watched it dance. He gathered his thoughts.

"When I was a child, I had no friends. Nobody to call my own. No one to talk to. Not even about the most common things. I wouldn't say I had an imaginary friend per say, more a being. She was a white cloud, not generally of a specific shape. I called her a _she_ for her voice was that of a woman. I wonder now if she took the place of a motherly figure in my childhood mind." He gestured vaguely behind himself, signifying his past mind. The memories of her voice pulled him under for a while, but he came out of his trance quickly, remembering Christine. Glancing quickly at her, he saw her face had softened into a grieved expression. Erik rubbed his palms on his thighs, fretting for a moment that he had said too much. "Forgive me. I didn't mean to make you sad, Christine."

"It's not your fault. It's just...your life makes me sad." She reached across the table, holding out a comforting hand to him, a sweet smile on her lips. "This place was no place for a child to grow up, alone, without a mother. I am glad you had something, even if she was imaginary." He glanced at her outstretched hand and considered accepting the gesture. His heart however could not handle such a gesture at this time.

Slightly depressed by his rejection of her touch, Christine looked away from him and lapsed into thought for a moment, turning her mind onto her own joyful past. _Should I talk about my imaginary friends? They have all happy memories with my papa._ Aware too much time had passed for her to back out of the question, she explained:

"I never had one imaginary friend. I had many that came and went. I don't think I even named them. Papa and I would make up people to play or sing with. But, when the game ended, so did they. The next game, we'd make up more. I remember one in particular was a very stuck-up English Duke who refused to dance with me!" She laughed at herself for the childish idea of fun.

His lips gently turning upward, Erik gave her a soft smile. He began to chuckle slightly to himself at the thought of such an absurd man; be he duke or not.

"Any man, even a Duke, would be a fool not to dance with you Christine." He allowed himself a moment to gaze into her kind eyes. Realizing that he'd stared for a moment too long however, he wiped his hands on his trousers again. He slipped his long slender fingers into the glass, swiftly plucking out a slip of paper. He then returned to his easy reclined position as he unfolded the paper. He glanced at it for a moment and scoffed.

"'What,'" he started in his soft voice, "'are your obsessions?'"

He looked Christine right in the eyes. It was of course an ironic question seeing as his main one was sitting right across from him. _But I can never tell her that. Never in my life will I allow her to know how completely and entirely obsessed I am with her._

"Since this is such a difficult question," he said this with a hint of sarcasm, speaking more to himself than to her. "I'll go first since I already know mine." He hesitated glancing up at her. She held his gaze for the moment.

"Music." he finally said. "It is _quite_ obvious that I am obsessed with music." He made eye contact with her again and gave a quick grin.

Christine attempted to return his smile but felt oddly disappointed with his choice. _I suppose I can understand that music would hold a deep place in his life but I thought I meant more._

"I...I don't know if I have an obsession." She finally answered. "Either...singing?" _Or you._ She reached into the pot and withdrew another scrap of paper with a rather short prompt on it.

"'If you had one wish, what would it be?'" She asked, glancing up at him through crystal blue eyes, framed in beautiful blonde curls.

"Hmmm." he sighed. "Come now angel, I simply can't go first on all of them." He laughed deeply chancing another glance at her.

"Well, you did decide to go first when it was technically my turn. And, it is technically your turn once more so I say you have to go." She smirked at him, crossing her arms across the bodice of her dress. He growled slightly after rolling his eyes. In a final attempt, he locked eyes with her, intending to intimidate her into going first.

"Fine." he said after being quite unsuccessful. "If I had one wish," he paused a moment shifting his gaze to the floor. "If I had one wish, I would wish that I had a normal face."

 _Wouldn't anyone? For if I had a normal face Christine would be sure to love me. So no use in wishing for her love when I could just remedy the reason she could not love me._

Christine closed her eyes for a moment, remembering that face beneath the mask, that twisted face and those pale blue eyes staring hopelessly into her own. That face had made the man she loved so dearly, she would grieve his loss. _If he were normal, he'd have the world at his feet. I wouldn't be important at all. But, he'd be happy._

"I would wish you happy," she quietly replied. He blushed slightly before clearing his throat.

"You're very kind Christine." _How could she know that by granting me this wish, be it imaginary or not, she has fulfilled it to an extent._ Pushing through his obvious discomfort, he reached into the jar once again. This time however, he did not return to his laid back position. Instead, he sat rigidly on the edge of his chair. He unfolded the paper and waited a second before reading it aloud, giving his voice a moment to mask his feelings. Her last answer had caught him so off guard that he struggled to compose himself.

"What is your worst habit?" He rolled his eyes, crumpling up the paper and tossing it to the side. _Killing people_. His mind answered. _Stalking people_. _Shut up!_ He lashed back. "So I suppose that's you, no?"

"Yes, it's my turn. I suppose I'd have to say...kicking while I'm asleep. I don't know if its a habit but I've been told that I kick really badly in my sleep." She blushed embarrassed and quickly turned the question to him. "What about you?"

"Scowling. I've been told I don't smile enough." They stared at each other for a moment before both bursting into a fit of laughter. Erik's deep laugh echoed through the room while Christine's hardly made a sound, hers quickly faded as she listened, nearly transfixed by Erik's powerful laugh. The sound was as beautiful as his voice, if not more and very infectious. As they quieted down, she said,

"I love your laugh! You should laugh more often."

"As should you." He replied simply, looking into her eyes.

"Let's both try, for each other's sakes." She drew another piece of paper and read it aloud,

"What is something you've never told anyone?" She inquired, glancing at him and arching an eyebrow.

"I sing in the tub." He stated with a deadpan face. Christine chuckled to herself.

"I…" She hesitated, "I carry on conversations with myself. I have for years. There never was really anyone around other than Papa and he had to work so, I just kept myself company. But, I always kept it a secret because I thought I'd seem crazy."

"My dear, if that is your definition of crazy, I so wish I could live in your world. You're not crazy. Everybody does it. And those who claim they don't are lying." He reached for the next question and sat back in his chair. He hadn't returned to his comfortable recline of before, but he had relaxed a little.

"'What color are your eyes?'" he scoffed loudly to himself. "Who came up with these questions! I don't even know my eye color."

"Would you like me to tell you?" She asked, ignoring his previous statements and the question for a moment to deal with his off-hand remark. He stared at her, stunned.

"Could you?" he asked, hesitantly. "I generally do my best to stay away from mirrors."

"I will. Come here." She gestured for him to kneel down in front of her so she could see his eyes clearly. "You're going to have to be close for me to see the color clearly and give you an accurate description of your eyes."

Erik's breath hitched at the mention of contact. _Could she really stand to be so close?_ Hesitantly, he lifted himself out of his chair and dropped till his knees touched the plush Persian carpet. Not sure what to do with his hands he let them drop to his sides. He didn't know what to expect. _Will she take my mask?_ His heart began to pound against his rib cage. He felt his hands shaking and clutched the sides of his trousers to steady them.

With him now on eye level with her, Christine gently reached out, pausing just before she touched his face.

"Erik...um...may I?" She looked at her hands then as his face. "I can see your eyes better if I could…hold your...face still. If you don't mind? I won't take off the mask. I promise that."

He hesitated for a moment studying her expression. However he could find no hint of deceit.

"You may."

She smiled and gently laid her hands against the cold cheeks of his white mask. Slightly tilting his face so she could see his eyes better in the light, she studied them. Primarily, the color was blue. Bits of gold flecks spotted the pale color and on the outer edges, the irise's thin color faded into the white of the rest of the eye. She found herself, quite unexpectedly, drawn into the color, losing herself in his eyes.

"Well?..." _Why is this taking so long? Have my eyes gone white? Is she too terrified to speak? Are they as ugly as the rest of me?_

"Your eyes are so beautiful," she whispered, giving him a sweet smile as his words snatched her from her trance. "I've never seen more beautiful eyes."

"I'm glad you think so. However I am still clueless as to their color."

"They're blue. Blue with gold flecks. Would you like to tell me what mine look like?" She asked, blushing a little.

"Sky blue." It took him no time to respond, for he had already taken in every detail of her being many times over.

"You must have been studying my eyes when I was studying yours to know them that well." She grinned happily as she let go of his face and leaned back in her chair.

"My apologies." His head hung slightly. He knew he'd studied her long before this moment. That knowledge burned him a little inside, for she had not yet known the color of his eyes until this very moment.

"What do you say we move on?" Returning to his full height, he returned to his seat, and yet again adopted his erect posture.

"Erik, wait." Unwilling to let him move on with the game while he was obviously a little upset over her statement, she clarified, "I don't mind you studying my eyes. I really don't. You don't have to apologize."

With a nod of his head, he accepted her statement. He waved a controlled hand to the jar as a gesture of continuation. She sighed and pulled another piece of paper from the jar and read it aloud,

"'When was the last time you cried?'"

He froze a moment. _Why on earth did I write these questions? Should I tell her the truth?_

"The last time we were together."

 _You're lying._

 _I know. Shut up._

 _Why lie?_

 _How am I supposed to tell her I cry at the mere thought of our last encounter, hmm? She'd think me mad if she doesn't already. No, no this stays with me. She can't know._

"I suppose if I were completely honest, it would have to be today." She said quietly, remembering their lovely afternoon together earlier in the day, just after her arrival in his home. They'd had a wonderful picnic in the woods, during which she'd struggled to keep her tears away as she remembered what she'd done to him in those woods just a few weeks before, how she'd destroyed him with one reaction. While he had been busy with something, she'd started crying, not so he'd notice but enough to count for the question.

His eyes widened visibly, and he became more tense, if such a thing was possible. His hands gripped his knees as he realized he'd done something wrong. _Today? She's cried today! Do I truly scare her so? Does she hate me as I thought? Oh why am I such a monster!?_ He silently cursed himself and began to rock lightly.

She saw him begin to panic and reached out a hand to him.

"It wasn't because of something you did!" She quickly reassured him. "No, I just remembered how cruel I was to you. How I treated you during our first picnic."

These words almost made his case worse. _She still thinks about that?! She plays my face over in her mind? Why subject herself to such horror?!_ His breathing became more shallow. He did manage to take control of the rest of his tell tale signs. Nodding in acceptance of her reassurance, he reached into the jar and pulled out a new question. Clearing his throat, he read the question aloud.

"'What do most of your friends think about you that is entirely untrue?'"

"Erik, do you think we should continue this game later? I don't want to upset you." Christine asked, worried about his shallow breathing and odd reactions to many of the questions he had put in. "I don't mind."

"No, no it's really fine Christine. Just, I don't know. Some things are hitting me odd tonight. No, I'd like to continue if you don't mind."

"If you're sure…" She trailed off before smiling. "Well, I don't really have any friends other than you and you know almost everything there is about me. But, if the ballet girls count, I'd say they probably think I'm a bit stuck up. Sometimes I feel that they think that way about me. What about you?"

"They think me incapable of normal human emotion. I'd like to think that untrue. But wouldn't anyone?"

"I know it's untrue. You have plenty of human emotions. You just don't get much of an opportunity to express them." Christine declared.

"I'm glad you think so." He gave her a small smile and gestured awkwardly to the jar. She smiled brightly and took a piece of paper and read it.

"'What is your deepest fear?'"

"Dying."

"Being alone." Christine responded, trying not to think too much about his answer. _If I do, I will cry again. Without a doubt._

"Next question!" He exclaimed, trying to add a hint of happiness to the room. "Nearly out of questions aren't we?" Drawing the next piece to his eye level, he read aloud,

"'What are you most self-conscious about?'... Well I'd certainly assume it's obvious." Realizing it was not his turn, he gestured for her to answer. "My apologies."

"It's okay. It's just a friendly game after all. I suppose mine would be my figure. I know most men prefer a woman who is more filled out." She glanced down at her slender form encased in a powder blue dress and sighed unhappily. Her waist had always been too narrow, her bosom far too flat, and her hips lacking the child-bearing quality many men found appealing.

"Oh Christine. If only you could see yourself the way I see you." He froze a moment, realizing that he'd said it out loud. He glanced at her and noticed her soft blush. _How on earth are you so entirely stupid? Erik, a genius? That's quite a laugh indeed._ "Forgive me dear, you may proceed onto the next question."

Ignoring his statement, she pressed,

"How do you see me?" _Now I'm just searching for compliments. But, I'd really like to know. What do I look like in his eyes?_

His head snapped to her, turning away from the fire.

"You really want to know? You wish to know how a monster sees you? How could one such as myself see you as anything less than perfection? Your voice is as heavenly as any of God's many angels. Your face is made of perfect porcelain and painted to match that of the lightest of pink roses. You carry yourself with the grace of a swan and dance alike. You dare question your figure? Ha!" He stood with this exclamation, so engulfed in his emotions that he could stand it no longer.

"Your figure is envied from the highest of royalty. Gold hair with a gentle curl, would be the pride of any sane woman on this earth. And not to mention your personality! You are kinder than any human being on this planet! The mere fact that you have stayed here with me, a demon, and shed not one tear in pity for yourself is a prime example of your perfection. Do not think me to overestimate you Christine. Your heart is made of pure gold, so that any king would covet it. Your name means anointed. You, Christine, you are anointed to be earth's one perfect angel." With this he turned and walked to the fire. He leaned his arm across the mantel staring into the heat.

"I see no monster or demon here." Christine finally said quietly, brushing away the tears that were flooding her cheeks from his unexpectedly passionate compliments. "All I see is a man whose opinion is the only one that matters to me."

He froze. _How in the name of all things good in this world is she so selfless?_ Closing his eyes for a moment, he tried to think of what he should do next. However logic and any form of sensible thoughts seemed to fail him. Instead, he found himself drawing up another slip of parchment. Doing his best to ignore Christine's obvious tears he read,

"'Do you love someone?'" He sighed heavily, tossing this strip into the waiting fire. Placing his hands on his hips he awaited her answer. He was sure to avoid eye contact. _It will be the fop. I'm sure of it. She's in love with the boy after all._

"There is a man, a man I love very much. I hope he loves me back but he has never said it." _I love him so much but I doubt he'll believe me._ She reached into the jar and accidentally pulled out two. Leaving one in her lap, she read the first one out loud.

"'Who have you loved but they didn't love you back?'"

 _Has the universe not embarrassed me enough?_ He hesitated before blurting it out.

"You Christine!" The room became more silent than it had been the entire evening, save for a shifting log in the fire sending sparks skittering about the black fireplace. "Forgive me a thousand times over! I know the world was not made to host angel and demon, but how can I keep myself from loving you?"

He looked at her expectantly. Her face was blank. No sign of horror, joy, confusion, nothing.

"Well? Who's your unrequited beau?"

"A few seconds ago, I would have said you." She quietly replied, her heart near to exploding from joy at his confession. Her face broke into a bright smile as she stood up from her place, the other piece of paper clutched tightly in her hands. She walked over to him and gently reached up a hand to lightly brush his hard cheek. "But, it's no longer unrequited, so, I don't have one and hopefully never will again."

His eyes widened in complete surprise. He shifted his gaze to meet hers. Tears were falling from her perfect eyes.

"Oh Christine!" He reached up with a gloved hand, gently wiping away her tears. "Don't cry for Erik. Never cry for me."

He drew a shaky breath, doing his very best not to cry. _Does she truly love me? Has she? Could she? This must be a dream. A perfect dream, but a dream nonetheless. I will wake soon and she'll be gone._ He rested his right hand on her soft cheek cradling her face best he could without invading her space.

"When do I wake?" He whispered almost inaudibly.

"You won't." She replied, lightly rubbing her thumb over the cheekbone of his mask. "You won't wake because this is reality. You're not dreaming. I love you, Erik. I really love you."

"Nothing you can say will make me believe this is not a dream."

"Then, maybe I can do something to change your mind." She held up the other scrap of paper and asked, "'Kiss or hug?'"

His breath caught in his throat and he could feel his knees begin to buckle. He could, and would never force this perfect angel to grant him either. "Believe me, either would be a gift granted to me by the heavens."

"Then...kiss me, Erik. I won't disappear." He looked at her hesitantly, nervous that the moment he tried to kiss her, her words would be a lie and she would fade into nothing more than wisps of a fantasy. Her lips waited patiently for him and she even closed her eyes to spare him embarrassment. Leaning down, he barely brushed his lips against hers before pulling back as if burned.

 _What am I doing? I'll ruin her! Can one taint an angel?_

 _Only a demon._

 _I know…_

He began to pull away but Christine decided to be impulsive. Gently tangling her fingers in the hair at the base of his neck, she firmly pressed their lips together. His tiny, timid peck had encouraged her to take the next step. Her hand landed on his shoulder as she closed her eyes and leaned against him. After a few seconds though, she pulled away, the mask digging into the sides of her mouth and uncomfortably flattening her nose.

Erik's mind was taken over by a blissful fog. _She didn't die. She's alive standing here still. She is not a demon either… Is it possible I did not corrupt her?_

"I'm sorry, is there something wrong?"

 _Idiot. Of course there's something wrong! She just kissed you!_

 _Kissed me… She kissed me._

"It's nothing major." She replied, lightly running her finger over the light red lines on her cheeks. "The mask just dug in a little. Are you okay?"

"I'm fine, but you're not. I'm afraid I don't know how to remedy your pain, my love."

"Well…" Christine trailed off and lightly reached up to run her finger along the edge of the mask. "You could take it off and kiss me? It wouldn't dig in then."

"Oh my dear, I would never subject you to such a horror. Please don't feel forced to kiss Erik due to some game."

"I don't feel forced." She quickly defended her choices. "I want to kiss you. I love you. That's what people who love each other want to do. If anything, your game gave me a great excuse to introduce you to the idea."

"You'll disappear…"

"Why would I disappear?"

"Everyone does. All who see my face run. And then they're gone."

"I won't run. I've seen your face before but I'm here. I stayed and I'm still saying I love you even though I know exactly what this hides." She brushed the mask with both hands. "I know last time, I promised you things I should have been able to follow through with but didn't. I'm so sorry for the pain I put you through. I won't hurt you like that this time."

"It is your choice Christine. I will not object." With that, he closed his eyes and waited.

Christine watched him for a moment before standing up on her tiptoes and untying the mask. Holding it against his face, she eased it off and laid it on the mantle before looking back at the horrible deformity, written in twisted colors across his ravaged face. Tears welled up in her eyes as she reached up and brushed her fingers against the gnarled features.

"I didn't run." She whispered to him before pressing a light kiss to his lips then peppering them across his damaged cheeks.

"Neither will I." He quietly replied, keeping his eyes closed tightly as his sensitive skin enjoyed the gentle kisses of his beloved. A few tears rolled down his cheeks as he stopped her by cupping her cheeks. Opening his damp eyes, he blinked several times to see a clear image of Christine. He lightly brushed a thumb of her lips and glanced into her for permission. She subtly nodded, and he leaned down, kissing her passionately.

 _This is just going to hurt when you wake up._

 _No, it won't because this is real._


End file.
